Chapter Text
“Remind me,” his fingers already digging through the sides of his skull, “how is expanding our business to Sokovia a good idea? The people are disheveled enough as it is. I have already done enough damage there as an Avenger, what makes you think this would be any better?”
To his complete dismay, Tony had the disheartening opportunity to speak with the officials managing his latest architectural project; expanding. They had already discussed the possibilities of opening Stark facilities in Paris and Hong Kong, but due to ‘inspirational differences’ and land ownership, they had shelved those ideas for the time being. Yet, with their newest proposition, he may as well step back and select either of the previous options right then and there.
“We understand your concern Mr. Stark, and trust us, we are equally as flabbergasted as you. However, the charts from our latest data collection do not lie. The country has rebuilt itself quite well, and the land’s infrastructure has been built to withstand. The people are rough, yes, but with your suave attitude and your canny ability to turn the tide, we believe that you will be able to build yourself a stable branch within their borders.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, “how ‘bout no?”
Tony places down the pencil he had twirling between his fingers, the sound of the wood connecting with the table absorbing into the walls of the suffocating conference room. He grew impatient. A quick glance at the clock, the hour hand leaning longingly towards the eight.
“Look, guys, I love what you’re doing, really.” Arms reaching back, already grabbing for his coat, “But this truly isn’t something you should be discussing with me. Talk to Pepper. Hell- literally anyone else. I’m already late for my next conference, and it’ll take me at least half an hour to get there. I have a ride to catch. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now.” Chased by frustrated remarks and wondrous curses, the billionaire had just barely made it to the elevator, smiling dimly as he watched the two doors slide closed on the stuffy businessmen calling for him in the conference room.
The morning sun came peering through the grand windows of the tower’s atrium, sunlight leaving a crisp orange strip across the side of his body as he made his way throughout the hall. Staff made way for his presence, one even reaching out to lend him a coffee.
He declined.
He walked in stride, kindly greeting others but also keeping to himself. Once he made down the line of office workers and running interns, another set of elevators opened to an amused Pepper Potts and reluctant Happy Hogan.
“Knew you’d try to flee.”
“I only ended it early,” he laughed, “hardly fleeing, if you ask me.” A soft kiss and entwining of their fingers, the man greets his wife as he steps into the elevator.
“There was a letter for you,” Happy grumbled, pulling the black envelope from inside his jacket, “cameras don’t show how it got there, only that it appeared.” With a raised brow and mind intrigued, Tony takes the matte envelope from his bodyguard, looking down to the haphazard handwriting of his name. Flipping it over, he catches sight of a white bird’s feather. There, it is kept in place by the seal.
The red seal stares back at him, clear as day. A broken skull, a fracture running down the middle and breaking off at the jaw, wear a singular bat wing sprouts and engulfs the remains space of the seal. The crimson wax keeping safe what is contained inside. He nearly smiles at the memory.
”Every century?” Red nails.
“A bit much, ain’t it? We’ll miss the times.” Blue eyes.
“Every half-century, then? Shy of fifty years.” White hair.
An old, fond memory of his. One he never thought to cross in quite some time. However, he seemed to have been right the first time. A century was quite a way’s way in time. Fifty years, and he’s already forgotten completely.
“-ony? Tony? Do you who this is from?”
Caught in the memory, he never realized his wife snapping her fingers in view of the midnight envelope. Eyes focused, he sees Happy holding onto the envelope. He’d apparently taken back grip of the damned paper when he wasn’t responding. Neither of them had bothered to let go, with the latter eyeing worryingly at his boss and close friend.
“You alright Tones? Seemed out of it there.”
“Ah,” with a pull, he took the letter from the man’s hand, “I’m fine. A bit of a flashback there, you know me. Enemies and friends everywhere. Tried to recall where this thing was from.”
“And?” Pepper, always the living one – and concerned, if his shenanigans had anything to say about it. Her arms crossed, the action creasing the sleeves of her silk blue work dress.
“An elite invitation,” he waves, “no worries. They’re more like tight-lipped dinners with a bunch of grouchy elderly trying to discuss world peace and order. Like Avenger meetings, but with more drinking. I should actually check when they plan to hold it, actually, I can’t miss it.”
Before he could tear at the paper, his fingers are stopped by the governing hand of Happy, who took it upon himself to confiscate it from him.
“What sort of meeting surrounded by grouchy old men are you ever excited for? And world peace and order? That’s definitely an Avenger’s route. Why don’t you call the team about this?” Like a coin, Tony’s demeanour had completely changed.
From high shoulders, to mid and broad. From one foot that never seemed to stop tapping away at the floor, both feet were planted firmly to the floor. Hands not askew, but both coming together to a polite press of his palms, envelope in between. No more were his eyes hyper and ever moving, but silently still, staring right down at Happy. No longer were Pepper and Happy standing alongside the giddy, coffee-hungry inventor.
“Listen, Hap,” Tony opens the envelope, “I’ve been waiting on this invitation for a while. Before my days as an Avenger, and even before becoming CEO. While not as great as an inheritance, or some grand lottery, I’ve got to take this.” The tear of the paper bounced off the walls of the elevator, and upon taking out bright ruby paper from inside the envelope, he began to read.
Anthony Stark,
It has been fifty years, and I believe it’s now time to enact the creed you yourself have declared. We confess, your current identity as this heroic individual has indeed caused some concern among our own clans, but we believe your control and influence has indeed kept our young ones in check. Blood is stirring, and I do mean that literally. I believe it will be of interest for you to know that blood has been spilled on your own grounds. Per request of the Sylvester twins, this reunion will be held within your borders today, at Devil’s Bay, 9am. Which, reluctantly, also housed the beginnings of the problem. We hope to meet you there.
Regards,
Vivian McQuade
PS- You better be there before us. I am not dealing with the twins AND Arlo tonight.
Quite the language, that one. Tony smirked, folding back up the letter and neatly sliding it back into the envelope. With silence once more filling the small glass lift, he tears the letter apart until there is nothing left but kindling, before placing the remains into the trustful hands of his wife.
“Burn that, if you will, hon. Confidential stuff.” The doors open, letting Tony walk out into the underground garage. A grey, ugly clock hanging above the security gate was enough for him. “Cancel anything and everything I have today too, please? This dinner will take a while.”
“Tony, it’s still morning.” As if he already didn’t know. “It’s not even eight-thirty yet.”
“Call it a very early catch-up breakfast,” he waved, readjusting his tie, “or late dinner. All to make up for all the dinners we missed.” Catching the concerning stare Pepper was giving her, he quickly pecked a gentle kiss on her upper lip. A soft gaze and cup of her cheek, he assured her growing worries.
“Don’t worry, you can nitpick at my choices all you want once I come back. If not, how about takeout later tonight? We’ll have Pete over and we can catch up on that Star Wars marathon for the millionth time in a row. You know how much he loves gushing about Princess Lea to you.” Whether it’d be his charming smile or loving heart, at the mention of their son in all but law or blood, she caved.
“I do love his references.”
“Good,” he beamed, “and I will be back with his favourite pastries from that Baklava place down on the Boulevard.” Pepper let out a breath, matching his motion and placing her own hand over his, embracing the warmth between his fingers.
“Don’t get in trouble, with whatever it is you’ll be doing.”
“Oh, aren’t I always?”